


Beaten, But Not Broken

by Smutslug



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Abuse, Blood, Humiliation, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Murder, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 11:28:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14810499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smutslug/pseuds/Smutslug
Summary: Lotor is not happy about his position as Sendak's slave.Obligatory Lotor!slave fic.





	Beaten, But Not Broken

**Author's Note:**

> I felt angsty so I wrote this.
> 
> And don't worry, I will update Remorse is a Dish Best Served Never soon. Just needed a different outlet for my angst.

He wakes to the sound of soft whirrs and clicks of machinery.

 

He barely has the strength to open his eyes.

They are unfocused and his eyelids feel like lead.

 

He is in a hospital bed. A stark contrast to the bathroom floor where he had slit his own wrists.

All around him is machinery and screens, no doubt to monitor his vitals, and tubes connected to his person, most likely to replace the blood he lost.

 

He glances over at his wrists, finding them bandaged and fitted into soft padded cuffs chained to the bed frame.

He is not moving on his own anytime soon.

 

He should have cut deeper.

 

He looks to his right and is only met by a wall.

Someone has braided his hair to make it more manageable, the heavy braid resting on the pillow next to his head.

The collar someone so crudely had etched his name onto, still around his neck. A reminder of his current position.

Movement to his side. A galran doctor packing away needles and syringes. They must have brought him out of anesthesia early.

There is someone else in the room too and he glances over at them, trying to make sense of their figure through the haze.

The person does it for him.

“That was extremely foolish,” the newly crowned emperor says, his voice has a hint of annoyance.

Lotor just closes his eyes. He doesn't want this right now.

“Look at me,” Sendak barks, and Lotor does not dare otherwise.

Sendak walks up to the bed, his massive frame filling most of Lotors vision. He barely notices the doctor leaving the room because of it.

“I am surprised that when you finally acquired a weapon this was what you decided to use it for.” Sendak gestures to his mangled wrists.

Lotor swallows, trying to bring a bit of strength to his voice.

“Anything else would have lead to punishments far worse than death.”

Sendak hums in agreement.

“It certainly would.” Sendak taps the cuff of the closest wrist with a claw.

“But you failed.” Sendak brings his flesh hand to Lotor’s throat, not too tight, just keeping him still. “You will always fail. Because you are a failure and always will be.” The Emperor squeezes lightly, enough for his claws to prick the skin on the back of his neck uncomfortably.

“If I am so worthless, why am I still alive?” Lotor asks

Sendak gives him a smirk in reply.

“Because you still need to be punished for your misdeeds.”

“And for how long must I warm your bed for my redemption?”

“Oh I don't know, a few millennia?” Sendak's smug look is like poison.

“I think I will take death over that, thank you. Next time I’ll cut my throat instead,” Lotor says.

“There will not be a next time,” Sendak snarls.

“I expect you back in my quarters by the end of the quintant, no matter what condition you are in.” And with that he walks off and Lotor is left alone.

 

He wishes more than anything that he had cut deeper.

 

\-----

 

They pull him out of the room roughly, dragging him with them when he stumbles, not giving him time to get back on his feet. His feet and knees get burn marks from the smooth metal floor and Lotor has to bite his lip to avoid saying anything. He does not want to give them the satisfaction.

 

\-----

 

The Emperor's bedroom is much larger than it needs to be, and Lotor has spent enough time here to loathe the place.

The guards throw him onto the bed before unceremoniously chaining the cuffs to the bed posts, spreading his limbs to the four corners of the bed. Then one of the guards pull out a knife and roughly cuts away his clothes, the little clothing he has been allowed to wear, not caring if the knife nicks him here and there and then ripping off the remaining cloth scraps.

And then he lays there, face down, ass on display, waiting for the furry bastard that calls himself Emperor, to come and have his way.

Lotor would cry if it did him any good.

There are so many things he regret not doing.

 

\-----

 

Lotor let his pride hurt him, as Sendak relentlessly forces out every little sound from his body. He is never pleased unless he hears a gasp, or a whimper, or even a moan.

It doesn't matter if it is caused by pleasure or by pain.

But most treasured of them all is the tears he sheds.

Lotor fights so hard not to cry, to let tears fall. He doesn't want Sendak to revel in their presence.

But in the end even Lotor's stoic mask of defiance falls and he wishes for nothing more than for the torture to end. So he cries, and whimpers, and moans, all to please his captor, rapist and torturer.

And he begs.

Sendak loves it.

But time passes and he can no longer moan, or whimper, or cry, the tears all gone.

Lotor feels nothing anymore.

He lets Sendak have his way with the empty shell that is his body, this trophy that he is and that Sendak cherises so.

He might sleep on the finest silks, even if he is chained to the bed for the most part of the day, eat the best food the Empire has to offer, even if he has to kneel by Sendak's feet and eat from his hand, being washed and cared for by hundreds of servants, even if they feel nothing for him and wishes only to prolong his miserable existence, even then his life is merely a nonexistence.

And it hurts.

So deep.

 

\-----

 

Lotor looks himself in the large floor to ceiling mirror in the bathroom. He is rarely chained down anymore.

His body is thin. He can see his ribs and the hip bone is protruding. So does his cheekbones. His eyes are sunken and lifeless. There is a long time since any joy were to be found in them.

His hands are thin and bonelike, like that of a skeleton.

He might be eating, but his body is tired from abuse and mistreatment, and the ever present stress.

Right now he is nothing more than ghost of his previous self.

He doesn't startle when the Emperor's heavy clawed furry hand lands on his shoulder. Very little scares him anymore. Things just happen and he can do nothing to change them, even if they would harm him. It's just better to let them happen.

“It took me almost a year, but I broke you in the end,” Sendak says victorious. Lotor has been broken for a long time already, but Sendak likes to remind him.

Sendak kneads his shoulder affectionately.

“Come. I feel generous today.” He takes Lotor's frail wrist in his hand and leads the smaller man with him.

They walk through an older part of Central Command, through halls long forgotten, by anyone but Sendak and Lotor.

“Do you remember this place?” Sendak turns to Lotor. Lotor nods slowly. “You used to live here with your father, before you were banished. Your father moved to a different set of quarters then, abandoning these.” Sendak gestures to the room they are in. It’s a lounge, with doors branching off in every direction.

A wide selection of items are littered through the room, most on tables and shelves, others discarded on the floor and judging by the disturbed layer of dust had moved recently, probably during Voltrons many attacks on Central Command.

“Take anything you want. Whatever you can carry back yourself is yours to keep,” Sendak says and smiles smugly.

Great.

A new way for Sendak to torture him. Dangle remnants of his past in front of him like a well earned reward.

It takes a few moments and then Lotor moves his naked feet, slowly walking through the millennias of dust covering the floor that the filtration systems has not been able to get rid of.

Sendak follows him as he shuffles from room to room, until he stops by a dresser in a sparsely decorated room. On the dresser lays a small sword, among other smaller objects intended for a child. It is not much unlike the sword he used as an adult, just in miniature.

The edge of the blade is dull, never intended to be sharp, but it doesn't stop Lotors thin, now ghostly hands to carefully grasp it and pull it to his chest.

Lotor turns to Sendak and holds the sword out as to get approval.

Sendak grabs it and holds it up, studying the blade. 

“A toy sword?” The smirk on his face is mocking. He hands the sword back.

“Anything else you want?” he asks and glances around the room. But to his surprise Lotor slowly shakes his head. 

Sendak bends down and looks into the sunken lifeless eyes of Lotor as to see if there is any reaction there  “Are you sure? I cannot promise I will ever allow you in here again.”

A small slow nod.

Sendak laughs. 

It's deep and mocking.

“I really did break you didn't I?” Sendak grins widely. He bends down to Lotor's eyelevel and speaks softly into his ear. “Come then,  _ little warrior _ , let us return to my quarters.” Then he gives Lotor’s neck a greedy lick. “I so wish to play with you again.”

So when Sendak leaves Lotor follows, leaving the quarters of his childhood and adolescence, of memories and pain.

 

\-----

 

The same evening Lotor lays on the bed, back towards Sendak, still clutching the sword in his frail hands close to his chest. Sendak had mocked him for his choice and for him to seemingly becoming so attached to it so quickly.

Sendak is sleeping next to him, large chest rising and falling slowly, a light snore leaves him now and then.

Lotor holds the sword out in front of him, still hidden by his own body, and clutches the hilt, twisting it slightly.

A small click.

For a tick he is afraid the larger galra heard it and his heart hammers in his chest, not willing to give him rest.

But Sendak snores on.

Slowly Lotor separates the hilt from the blade, revealing a smaller blade nested in the core of the sword.

And this blade is sharp.

Even after all these millennias.

Funny how luxite does that.

With minimal movement he brings the small blade to his throat and cuts through his collar, the blade going through the metal as if it was butter. He imagines it going through flesh.

He removes the remains of the collar and takes a deep breath, feeling free for the first time in over a year.

Sendak still sleeps.

He steels himself, gathering deep buried courage, and breathes out.

With deliberation he slowly climbs on top of the large galras chest, so that he is face to face with the Emperor.

Sendak stirs from his slumber and looks up at the smaller man.

“What is it, little warrior? You want to play?” Sendak says fondly as his right hand brushes against Lotor's cheek.

“No,” Lotor says, the whole act of being obedient is thrown away as he puts all his defiance and resentment into that one word.

And with a slow deliberate stroke he pulls the small blade along the side of Sendak's neck.

Sendak's lone eye widen and his hand darts to his neck as blood pours down his throat and into his fur and pillow below.

Sendak heaves for breath but nothing leaves him but a gurgle.

Lotor sits there, perched on the Emperor's chest as the light in the galras eyes is snuffed out and his arm flops lifelessly at his side.

Lotor sits there for a while, making sure the galra stays dead.

And then he rises and with deliberation he walks towards the doors of his quarters, and with all his strength he pushes the heavy doors open.

Outside sentries and servants move their gazes towards him.

He raises his hand, still holding the small blade, blood coating the edge and his fingertips.

“I have slain the Emperor," his weak voice proclaims. A lone drop of blood trails the tip of the blade before letting go and hitting the floor silently.

Only then does the servants react and they rush past him into the quarters.

No one touches him.

No one stops him.

So he walks.

He walks through the halls he have spent so much time in.

He walks to the familiar halls of the throne room, up the dais to the throne itself, and he sits down, naked flesh against the cold metal.

He rests his back against it and for a moment he closes his eyes.

 

\-----

 

When he opens them again the space in front of the dais is filled with Sendak's commanders.

None of them moves as if they are waiting for him to take the first step.

“How many emperors must I slay before you accept me?” he says. “For I tire of this pointless game.”

The ticks pass by, but then the commanders drop to their knees and salute him, one by one. A hollering Vrepit Sa rings through the room.

A servant sprints between the commanders carrying a large bundle of cloth and offers it to the new Emperor.

It's a cape, and from the looks of it, it belonged to his father.

His father would have killed him for sullying his cape like this, but that doesn't matter.

Lotor takes the heavy cloth and drapes himself in it, covering his naked body, covering his vulnerability.

It doesn't matter either.

He killed Sendak naked and with only a small knife, he will not hide that accomplishment.

So he sits there at last.

As the Emperor he was born to become.

As the ruler he was molded to be.

 

Lotor, Slayer of Emperors.

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure I like the ending, could have ended with him sitting down on the throne. You be the judge.
> 
> Was also fun writing mean Sendak for a change.


End file.
